Various Vignettes
by voicelessinthevoid
Summary: A collection of vignettes that have nothing to do with my other compilation of vignettes on here. There is no story arc. They're just one-shots that I've decided to put in one spot for the sake of order.
1. A Profound Relationship

V sat at the computer, the sound of the keys clicking in the silence, broad shoulders hunched over as he stared intently into the glow of the monitor. One key code to get around, and then Fate would be his to command. But the last was always the hardest. The girl certainly wanted a lot from him to ensure that their relationship would remain in tact in the coming years – this was hardly a one-night stand. V smiled beneath the visage. They both wouldn't have it any other way. Several key strokes later, and still nothing; she was stubborn, a trait they shared. V sat back in the chair to close his eyes briefly and stretch his tired muscles before he decided to take a break from woo'ing Fate as he got to his feet.

He stepped softly into the Rose Room where several tubs were filled with brilliant blossoms that nearly overflowed the sides while others, still, were soiled over or barely pushing out of the dirt. They were all watered with loving care and he made sure the overhead light burned on them for a period, a substitute for the sun. He loved them dearly, sewing the seeds that would be reaped later on.

Leaving that scented bower, V strode down a hall, seemingly pulled towards the soft warmth of a light issuing forth from a nearby room. Candles lit the interior, casting a tender glow over the cut roses placed strategically upon the mantelpiece and floor, some resting between tall, white candles. Bulbs highlighted the most important pieces in the room, lighting them up as if on display in a museum – several large movie posters and a single, rolled up tube that lay on the mahogany dresser in the center. Dark eyes gazed upward as if regarding an angel upon her holy seat in Heaven. She always stared out, with blank eyes, at nothing – frozen in time and space – the movie poster of The Saltflatts. He allowed the peace to wash over him from this silent conversation they had that spanned through memory and death itself, through years of hate, neglect, and pain.

His gaze lowered to rest on the one thing that had saved his life. He rarely touched it, wanting to keep it in good condition from the near twenty years of age, not to mention the abuse it endured in the making. But this time, he felt he was granted the privilege and reached out with trembling fingers. The rolled up letter was plucked from the well-polished surface as if it were the stem of a flower freshly picked from the memories of a once lavished garden left to rot. But as he knew, in the right hands, even the worst bereavement can be smoothed away.

He peeled it open, the sound of the yellowed pages crackling with age. Her tiny scrawl filled every corner of the five pages, several words and lines smudged away or faded into obscurity, but it didn't matter. The letter was memorized, tucking its beautiful and life-saving contents into a piece of his mind that would never forget the way it felt to have read it for the first time. He couldn't bring himself to read it again, it would hurt too much – even after almost twenty years, mere words could cripple a man to his knees. "My name is Valerie …" As his eyes caressed over the words, a smile came to his lips, so easy and natural. Slowly and with deft care, he turned to the last page and her closing statement: "… I love you. With all my heart, I love you …" He swallowed hard, feeling the emotions come so fast and vicious even after those few words. There have been more than a few days that he silently pleaded for another letter, but they both knew that all he needed, and all he would ever need was the one he held in his hands. What blackness kept him alive but took her, he didn't know. But he knew that he lived for one reason alone …

Returning the pages back to their correct order, he meticulously rolled them back into a tube and set it back in its place upon the mantle. He kept the candles lit and dutifully exchanged the dying and dried up roses for the pristine ones that waited in the tubs down the hall. "Ave atque vale," he said reverently to the poster hung upon the back wall before he slowly turned and left her place of memorial in its sanctified silence.


	2. Possible Impossibillities

The wind rose up from the cramped alleys in a rush, nearly blowing the hat from the figure's head. V stood upon the edge of a roof and glanced down, with dark eyes, to the unseeable depths of the back streets below. Long ago, he had cast his heart aside from the very same edge that he now stood at. The wind felt ominious but still, he seemed pulled to this spot. Eyes closed sadly and he remembered the useless effort put into trying to make it right within himself – the vengeance and hate, not to mention the countless pages spat out from the old printer in one of the rooms within the bowels of the Gallery. A waste of paper and energy – not to mention ink.

The sky was overcast and somber grey; clouds pregnant with life giving rain. He could smell it in the air and lifted his head to gaze heavenward. All the shades of grey coelesced and melted within each other as the clouds slowly pushed and moved across the sky. V couldn't deny the empty feeling he felt, never had he felt so alone before – a dreadful feeling. He felt weak for even admiting it to himself. He heard the drop upon the brim of his hat first before the sky opened up and poured over all of London – wetting the streets, seeping into the ground, and drenching the man in black that stood upon the roof. He didn't raise his arms up, but he allowed the rain to wash over him, caress him, and bore into his bones where he soon felt comfortingly cold but very much alive. His cloak was soddened, his jacket soaked. The wind clawed at his cloak and finally took the hat from his head where it fell behind him. He didn't reach back to retrieve it and soon, it rolled over the side of the building and fell to the streets below. V remained where he stood, his breath coming out in a strained gasp. His eyes closed again behind the mask and felt the hot wetness of tears streak down his face. Where Evey would raise her arms up and embrace the pouring of God's love, it did the opposite to V as it slowly drove him down to his knees. The sinful were made to kneel and cast their eyes to the cold ground – to the direction of their derived making.

His trousers became soddened and the dampness felt all the more chilled against his scarred legs. He bowed his head in saddened reverence all the while the wind growled and moaned in his ears – a tremendous force that commanded respect. His lips moved, whether it was a prayer or even words at all, it could hardly be known as he was too focused on the sound of the wind. A final gust and at once, the rain seemed to let up – as if allowing him the action to rise again or lift his head. Black eyes and a grinning smile gazed upward again, rain streaking down the smooth metal cheeks. The emptiness and sadness didn't diminish and his muscles grew stiff with the cold as he slowly got to his feet. He searched though – searched amidst the heavy layers of cloud and his eyes fixated upon the tiniest glint of white before it was soon swallowed up by grey. Only then, did that feeling within him lessen and he could breathe again. A sense of forgivness touched him and he nearly gasped aloud. It was an absolute foreign concept, but not an impossibility – not anymore. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. The air was silent, smelling of dampness, of renewal, of life. He parted his lips, his tongue feeling encumbersome in his mouth suddenly.

"I miss you …"

Though it was almost a whisper, it felt very loud to his ears – too loud for such hushed reverence surrounding him. Leather softly creaked as he pulled his fingers gently into his palms.

"I want to do right by you," he continued softly. "But it's so hard when surrounded by vile virulence. Ooh sweet Eve, it's so hard."

The wind softly rustled the strands of his wig and he swallowed hard again, hardly able to keep himself composed during this conversation he was having to the air – but in his soul, he knew he had her utmost attention, even if she couldn't be with him physically. V had too many stains upon his hands to warrant the grace of angel wings, but verily did he choose to take such steps in the right direction – one prayer at a time. During these moments, he rarely said anything at all. The conversation was short and always, it slowly pulled into the depths of his mind where he assured his utmost love and devotion to the better half of himself. And he received it in kind, feeling his heart swell all of a sudden and a warmth smooth along the self-afflicted scars beneath his skin.

"Thank you …"

The sun suddenly burst from the clouds in a blinding blaze and the corners of his lips pulled in a grateful smile.

V stood, not moving until he saw her to bed, the sun slowly sinking into the depths of the earth. It was a different kind of sunset than the blood-filled ones he had once come to know that heralded the night with throat-cut corpses. It was a promise of peace and it was a song that V would hum secretly to himself each night before he closed his eyes for sleep. When the last rays disappeared from the sky, V finally moved, stepping back onto the lift that had brought him up here and descended back down beneath the earth and underneath the city streets.

Another gust brought a black wide brimmed hat rolling at the feet of a young boy who plucked it from the damp streets. Looking it over, he finally set it upon his head, where it drooped a little over his eyes. He smiled though before he began whistling the 1812 Overture, stepping lively as he made his way down the sidewalk to catch up to his mother and sibling.


	3. Where Souls can Rest

The sun poked through gentle grey clouds, while a warm wind blew across the land and through the green valley. It was a picturesque scene from the most cliché of books and movies, but clichés were made into existence for a reason, weren't they? Some grain of truth had to exist within the meaning of the word. It was ideal and V beheld it from the eyes of his beloved who stood at his side, calm and peaceful. She embodied it, she was the personification of the word just as V was easily the personification of hate and everything that was destructive. But Eve took that away with the subtlest of touches to the dark jacket he wore, pressing just enough that he could feel it beneath the layer of black fabric. This was her world and she allowed him a moment's reprieve from the toils of London's rain-slicked and dirty streets. The notion of such a juxtaposition was illogical at that given moment. It was easier to let go … let go … let go … she ever insisted in her silent way. She told him without words that this was only a mere glimpse to the real thing, like the very flicker of a thought that was so small, it could hardly be called a thought, for where she resided, there was no need for masks, no need for symbols and flesh and blood – but the very light of the soul which was finally able to take shape. For V's still mortal mind, she kept the guise, because that was what he remembered, and what he would have to live with when their special moment had to end.

Time seemed an impossibility to comprehend in this realm of existence. The wind blew the strands of his wig and through her hair, and it felt like it blew through their bodies and V never felt more elated. It made him want to laugh, though he hardly knew why. He had enough of regarding the world around them and fixed his dark gaze upon her and his heart swelled so much that the feeling spilled from his chest cavity. Emotions no longer had to remain inside; they could be seen as well as felt. Eve smiled and V felt and saw the same thing issue forth from her and it was near overwhelming in its euphoria. Gloved fingers gripped slender pale ones and he brought her close, nuzzling her with the cold, hard cheek of the mask. "You never felt more warm," she said softly. The mask was no longer a barrier and if she wanted, she could touch it and he could feel every grazed path made by the pad of her finger on his scarred face without it ever needing to be taken off. She rested her head against his shoulder, touching her fingers, gingerly, against his abdomen. He pressed a gloved hand upon her waist. "I saw the first letter of your name in the sky a couple days ago," he murmured softly. "The way the sun filtered through the clouds and lit it up was beautiful. I felt you there with me." She reached up and splayed her hand against his chest. "I was there with you." She paused. "I know how you are, V. You're so determined to live with this notion that the world can't go on without your help, that it won't change until its darkest absolution is felt beneath everyone's feet. I know what you hope for, but will that truly make things better? Living is for now, light is for later." She smiled in everlasting adoration as she dipped her head down, her eyes closed as she listened to his heart beat. "You know what you must do, V. It's been engrained into the very make up of your being. And you are dearly admirable for all of your good qualities, and your convictions shine just as bright as the sun. But things remain so pressing within you that makes me incredibly sad." His voice was strained when he spoke, holding back the sorrowful emotions that, he knew, in this place, she felt and saw – everything was out in the open.

"You can help in that regard, Eve. You can make all of that go away, and you know how. Just come to me, please … so that I won't feel like I'm crazy anymore, pining for a damned vision, an illusion." "It's not time yet." "Then it won't be time yet to let that hate and vengeance go." "I never took you for a bargaining soul," she said calmly, a smile on her lips. Where she was patience absolute, V was ever the opposite – as it was meant to be. She endured his frustrations and his quick, violent temper and washed it away like rain over the scarred remains of a building. "You fight too much with yourself. Do I not sound familiar, yet?" She moved her head subtly to look up at him with her deep, brown eyes and only then did he realize who he had been truly conversing with all those years ago. "And what I said then remains the same. Keep hope and faith, and you'll be rewarded in time." V was too stunned to respond, even back then ... she had been there, long before that mutilation of spirit was to take place. Tears welled up in his eyes and his voice cracked. "I'm just so tired …" She shushed him gently, placing a gentle finger over the mask's lips. The warmth of her finger burned his mouth beneath, it was so sudden. "You'll be fine, V. Everything will be ok, because I will be there with you, just as I'm with you now." She reached up and pulled him down to press a venerable kiss to his brow. "You have bridges to fix. Never burn them, like I know you want to." A soft laugh escaped her as she added, "I know you'll be tempted." "Temptation is always a bitch," he couldn't help but say and she reprimanded him for it by swatting his arm playfully. "I'm so crazy," he suddenly blurted out. She wrapped her arms around him while he mirroed the action. How they embraced so tightly and their souls reach out so strongly. "You're not crazy," she murmured against him. "And you're not stupid," she added, knowing that was the next thing on the tip of his tongue. "You're my V, that's what you are. My one and only. And we will meet in the place where there is no darkness. I promise." She pulled back, seemingly to sift out of his arms like the very water element she was attributed to. She gripped his hands, and dreading what was coming next, his hold on hers was almost painful. "You have papers to write. The wrinkles of your interior have been smoothed down as much as they can, for the moment. And I know how you procrastinate." She smiled endearingly. "You'll find the strength and resolve to do what must be done. You'll find the way. You always do." Her expression saddened, not liking what had to happen either. "I love you."

V woke with a start, eyes snapping open and the vestiges of the dream left him almost instantly, though the feeling in his chest lingered. But it, too, soon vanished with the fury of his anger and frustration as he grabbed the book in his lap, that he had been reading and hurled it, with all of his might, across the room before he buried his aching head in his hands. He began to wonder, truly wonder, if the violence in his heart would ever go away. He feared that if it didn't, that he'd never see her beyond that mortal threshold.


	4. Grown By Deliverence's Hand

Black leather caressed over vermillion flesh of silk petals. The touch was so gentle and tender, the rose hardly moved. How strange that those hands that wrought such violence and destruction could make a Violet Carson tremble with joy at the slightest touch. A small shower of mist rained down. Water droplets clung to the carefully cultivated leaves and petals, sparkling like so many silver jewels in the light that shone above - an imitation of the sun that they would never see. The soil was already rich with life-giving water as it descended down to the roots, ensuring growth and rich colour ere they would be plucked from their isolated sanctuary and herald Judgment's coming. Only when it was over, would the rest germinate and flourish … and the world would have roses again. Scarred lips smiled at the thought and made his heart swell with pride. One of the flowers was plucked from its bed and tucked, reverently, within the black folds of cloak and jacket before a low tone broke the stillness.

"Let Justice be done, though Heaven should fall."

The flowers' caretaker soon left their scented bower and ascended to the upper floors, up a long and winding spiral staircase, down several corridors and through various rooms and up another set of stairs before the familiarity of the main chamber greeted him with its jovial glow. The light was dimmed down to a hush while the grandfather clock ticked away the time – three, three in the morning. How it flies by. His head turned to spy a cloak and one of his hats upon a nearby stand. One last visit and then he would venture out. To be honest, his legs missed the intense exertion of running through alleys and jumping from roof top to roof top. His arms missed the tight electricity of raking his daggers through flesh and fabric. But what surprised him most was how the depths of his soul missed the unmistakable joy of taking another's life. They have to be eradicated, his mind reasoned. Evil can be destroyed by nothing less than evil itself. And allowed to prosper, the vermin and slime on the bottom of the government's boot will only infect the system further with their disease.

Careful steps lead him to an ornately carved wooden door. He felt his heart flicker, knowing the sight he would see just on the other side. A hand pressed flat against the wood while the metal forehead rested beside it. Eyes closed, a silent prayer manifested in his mind. Not for him, never for him for he was already lost – but for her, his sweet Eve. If only she could understand how hard it was for him, the torment she instilled upon him. Never had he been so vacillating before, so torn inside about morality – between redemption and justice. He was blessed with a glimpse of Heaven in her eyes, in her countenance and demeanor, and in the way she moved and laughed - the only piece of that holy kingdom that he would ever see in this life or the next. Beyond this life, he didn't know what would happen to him nor did he give it much thought. The only importance was that he played his part – get the country free from the chains of an unfair sentence and right the wrongs of a corrupted ideology. That was his purpose, his reason for being. Even if it was wrong in the eyes of God himself, he would still do it – whatever it took. But Eve always seemed to show him a different perspective, a different facet of the jewel that he thought he had scrutinized to the last miniscule detail. Her compassionate rain doused the fires of his hate and every time she looked at him – truly looked at him, he felt forgiven.

The gloved hand smoothed down the wood of the door as he felt a surge of emotion come to overthrow him. It wasn't possible but yet, here she was, just behind that door – an impossibility in every way. So was he, himself. It was impossible for him to have even lived through the evils of that facility let alone survive the explosion that was the beginning of a twenty year long vengeful road. For a man, it was impossible, but not for an idea. And that was what he was yet she looked through the intangible and made true a seemingly impossible vestige. It affected every inch of his heart and it hurt him with each beat. As his hand descended down the door, it was stopped by the handle. He abruptly lifted his head and looked at it, weighing the notion of going in and seeing her with turning away to exact his nightly endeavors and what both of those choices would initially mean in the deepest recesses of his being. He swallowed hard.

The door inched open, the soft light pouring into the darkness of the room, causing a sliver of color to blanket the world of shadows and gloom. He opened it wide enough so that the light caught her sleeping form and he was paralyzed by her simple beauty, even from where he stood. Everything about her was perfect, flawless. God, she was an angel, an angel come to save him … come to hinder him, his calculating mind corrected. V stepped inside until he stood at the foot of the bed. She was cast in light while he was cloaked in shadow. The way it had to be, the way it was meant to be. She looked peaceful, eyes closed, hair in disarray upon the pillow. Her lithe body could easily be discerned from the dark furrows of blanket around her. For the longest time, V stood there, a silent statue, observing her slumber as he had done countless times before. She was the opposite to him in every way yet complimented each one. He swallowed again and stepped beside the bed, closer. His eyes washed up her form beneath the blankets and slowly trailed up the top of her chest that rose and fell with each deep breath she took. He lifted his gaze to her face and he wanted nothing more than to stroke a single finger across her pale cheek. But he knew he couldn't, he wasn't allowed to. Eve softly stirred in her sleep, her lips pulling in the subtlest of smiles before she grew calm again.

"_If the merest dream of love were true, then sweet, we should be in Heaven, and this is only earth, my dear, where true love is not given_. … _Vale_, Eve. Dream of angels for me."

He silently turned and left the shadows to watch over her in his stead. The door slowly closed and the sliver of light fell away from her face as she softly stirred again until it was completely shut. V closed his eyes beneath the mask, hand still on the handle as he drew a breath. He let his fingers slip away and journeyed back out into the main chamber towards the stand that held his effects.

Fingers gripped the cloak and furled it around his shoulders. His blood quickened in his veins and he allowed his heart to lose this battle of wills for now. She would be safe, she would still be here when he returned just in time to make her breakfast and his deeds would be as masked as the shadows during the day. A dagger glistened in the light as he reached to pluck the hat down.

"V?"

Surprised, he turned to see God's right-hand seraph walking out from the dim light of the hallway in a light blue, silk nightgown, rubbing an eye.

"Gracious, don't you realize how late it is," he asked.

She smiled and leaned against the wall, hiding a small yawn with a hand.

"_Sleep no more. V doth murder sleep."_ A soft giggle sounded from her as she continued. "It's not every day you come into my room, so near, and quote Elizabeth Siddal." Her smile faded a little. "… and say goodbye as if I'm never going to see you again." A graceful hand reached up to finger along the wall as she paused in thought. "I did dream of an angel, V … For once, it was nice to dream of you and then wake up to you."

V stiffened at this fact. He hadn't really given her sleepful smile any kind of thought but a mere trace of a dream and an excuse to linger upon the sight of her pristine mouth. He wasn't so conceited to ever think that what she saw behind her eyes was him.

"I'm sorry I woke you. It was not my intention." He promptly turned around but her voice kept him in place.

"I don't want you to go."

The hat still in his hand, it lowered to his side and a breath escaped him as he bowed his head slightly.

"_The night is long that never finds the day_, you know that Eve. You know what must be done, what compels me."

"Can't it wait for just one night?"

A heavy sigh passed from his lips, made louder to his ears by the claustrophobic recess of the mask. A single night … A single night wouldn't stop the tragedy that awaited him at the end of that tunnel; it wouldn't change his righteous desire to deal out death and judgment. He didn't turn around but he felt her eyes on his back, upon the curtain of black cloak that hugged his form and dutifully hid the daggers at his belt. Virtue fought against sin, goodness worked to cast down evil and dismantle the wicked. In her eyes, fingerman or not, it was still killing. V had no time to think about the family they went home to each night. The only family they had, in his eyes, were the Masters they served. He prayed that she would stay where she stood, for if she were to move towards him and make that physical connection, she would've, indeed, captured lightning in a bottle, pulling him back from the dark flames that urged him forward in his destruction and worse - he would've let her.

Silence passed between them, like the very solemn hour upon the waters of the river Styx that splashed up against the infamous ship of the underworld that belonged to the dreaded ferryman Charon. V wouldn't turn around, knowing very well what he'd find - the deepest sadness in her brown eyes, sadness for him and of the evils, she knew, he committed in the night.

"Someone has to play the Devil."

"V …" That single letter was filled with enough anguish to cause the heavens to weep. His choice was made and unwavering and she knew that too. He spoke over his shoulder, with the finalization of their conversation on his lips and a personal jab at the way she viewed the world.

"_Mercy but murders, pardoning those that kill."_

The hat was swiftly placed atop his head and he never looked back as he walked away from her and out of sight. What he didn't see was a trembling hand reaching up to cup a mouth, holding a cry inside while brown eyes shed tears, tears of hope and love for a man that was too stubborn to see the useless destruction he was doing to himself, and the idea, making its way to the streets above, that could never hope to empathize with flesh and blood – no matter how virtuous her visions.


	5. A Raindrop's Prayer

Dark grey clouds, pregnant with rain, coasted over the city of London, as if heralded by the glory of Heaven itself to judge the world in its inevitable final days. Thunder rumbled from far away while lighting flickered amidst the growing vortex that slowly churned, near to boiling; dark brown eyes watched it come. The wind was chilly and powerful as it wailed by like a banshee. Sitting outside her flat, Evey shut her eyes and let it blow through her like the ghost that she felt she was. Breathing in deep, it felt oddly good, a half second of elation transcending to the place her soul craved. But it was here, instead, that she was forced to stay - trapped in a prison of mind and body. But the rains would come and when it would, she would be free - if only for a little while. She wondered how often, if ever, that V gazed up at the sky. His gaze had been ever forward and focused and not up, the way hers was at the moment. Only during the explosions and fireworks, she childishly assumed. A sigh escaped her as she silently berated her puerile thoughts. The air smelled of rain but what she wanted to smell was powder and smoke. Not a second went by that she didn't think of him – the masked figure that had once saved her life from the dingy back alleys of youth and molded her, of his own volition, into maturity and the veracity of his vision. Was it worth it without him? She wondered that, too, on a regular basis. A part of her had to believe it was while the selfish part of her denied it. She just didn't understand - she felt she would never understand!

The first drop hit her arm and she mentally hushed herself, remembering, well, the time when she had broken it so very long ago in the deep bowels of the Underground whilst carrying a case of gelignite in her hands; she wouldn't make that mistake twice. She had been so young and naïve then.

"_Hush please … show some reverence,"_ he had said, his tone having pierced her into silence.

She was silent now, as she always was when it rained. It became this sanctified ritual – eyes closed, every muscle in her body relaxed, and she felt her soul stir within the prison of her ribcage and guard of her heart. Another drop, the sound of it splattering against the front steps, another upon the sidewalk, and another upon the top of her head until the heavens opened up and poured such life down upon the earth. Evey drew in a trembling breath as she slowly stood up on shaky legs, already drenched and wet. Water cascaded down her skin, washing away her sins, washing away her grief. She didn't feel cold, she felt alive for the first time in weeks. Eve lifted her sheared head up to the sky, an echoing homage to the moment of her resurrection from death so very long ago. Despite the pain of the pelting rain, like daggers upon her sensitive eyes and face, she smiled. The storm was angry and unforgiving in its iron wrath as the wind and the sound of the downpour roared in her ears. "God is in the rain," she whispered and as she slowly lifted her arms up, embracing V, embracing Valerie, embracing God himself, a bolt of lightning crashed down, blinding her in a sudden white flash. She stood her ground, though her insides shook from the sudden aftershock of thunder that ripped through the air. Drops trailed down her arms, like tiny tributaries that spread over every inch of her. She drew in a gasping breath even as the tears spilled from her eyes and mixed with the water. She wept with the angels until her tearful laughter pushed from her strained throat and coalesced with the sound of the rain. It was in that moment that she felt him, buried in her soul as deep as any dagger. She reached up high, with arms outstretched, hands splayed wide, trying to reach the floors of that holy kingdom where she knew he awaited her. Wind whipped through her, feeling the chill, at last, upon her palms like a cold, wet glass on a hot summer day. Eyes closed, she let the memory come …

Feminine lips pulled in a wide smile as little hands gripped a wet and perspiring glass. There was nothing like the taste of sweet tea that always cheered up the spirits. The girl quickly drew the straw in her mouth and took several long swallows, the sweetness of the sugar lingering on her palette long after she was done. A warm breeze blew through little Evey's curly brown hair as she waved and shouted at her brother in hopes to get his attention. Legs dangled over the side of a swing while her mother sat next to her in her favorite yellow sun dress, the two rocking back and forth. Evey, too, wore her favorite outfit, a simple white blouse and jean skirt. Her younger brother was trying a daring feat of his, spinning round and round about until he toppled over on himself in the grass. Evey laughed at him. She soon leaned against her mother, enjoying the feel of maternal warmth, despite the hot day. Her father was sitting in a folding chair nearby, reading a book, a pipe in his mouth merely for decorative purposes, to make himself look as important as the authors he constantly read about. Some nights when he would tell his rousing stories, he would scrunch his face up funny and furrow his brow as he quoted from one of his beloved books. His face was always so expressive. The characters came alive that way. It always made her laugh.

Life was simpler here in the country, not that there was anything wrong with the city. To Evey, it just felt like everything was in a perfect rhythm, where time slowed down and everyone was happier. As the years passed, change slowly came with a new election clinging to its coat tails. Time spent out in the country became less and less frequent until Evey felt that these quaint days were tragically at an end. They would return, her parents assured her, once the city settled down after the election. There was a word that sounded bitter to her mouth – Norsefire. She was too young to understand the intricacies of politics, but she felt, in her heart, that anything to do with them was a bad thing. But here, where the wind was warm and the waters caressed the shores, the thought never crossed her mind.

"Let's go out swimming, Evey," her brother shouted. Delighted, she hopped off the swing and ran across sand and grass as fast as her legs would carry her back to the house to change.

The temperature of the water was just as inviting and she began to war with her brother in a friendly splashing tournament. The waves rose and fell, seeming to swallow them up to the bottom of their chests until it fell away to their waists and legs. Evey had all intentions of listening to her parents and not going out too far and keeping a watchful eye on her brother. He liked to pretend that he was a shark and she, a mermaid that he was trying to attack. Several times, he grabbed her and they both fell into the water before both rose back up, spluttering and gasping for air. But always, she met his grinning face afterward and another playful splashing fight ensued. She didn't know what happened next. Her mind told her that her brother had dunked her in the ocean again, or so she thought, as a wave slowly crept up and over her. She coughed and fought to stay above the surface. The shore in sight again, her brother was farther away and she tried to quiet the sudden erratic beating of her heart. She would just swim back closer. Her mother began stepping quickly to the water line. "Evey? Evey!" She watched as her mother quickly ushered her brother out of the water before another wave came to dip over Evey's head. She could hear the sound of her mother's screams heavily muffled by the water in her ears. As she tried to push back above the surface, she could feel the undercurrent pulling her down.

Mummy, Mummy! Her mind screamed for the comfort of her mother as her heart pumped like a jackhammer in her chest, her lungs beginning to burn from holding her breath so long. When her head broke the surface, it was just enough to splutter and gasp in a renewed lungful of air – and a mouthful of water - before the current took her under again. Her arms racked through the surf, legs kicking with all her strength, though it was quickly diminishing. Tears leaked from her eyes which burned from the salt water. Her head felt dizzy, disorientated. Fatigue ravaged her and any effort seemed utterly useless. The world, up above, felt so far away. It was strange that she had been a part of it just mere moments ago. Down here, things felt more peaceful. She grew calm and still, letting the current do with her what it would. Air seeped out from her mouth and nose in the form of bubbles that quickly rose to the surface. Her gaze followed them and she started suddenly. The sun shone down upon the water, casting light and rays down through its depths and Evey swore she saw a black gloved hand reach out for her. It seemed so stark amidst the light backdrop but her oxygen-starved mind began to shut down and her vision grow dark. The amiable looking gloved hand remained there, extended towards her, all she had to do was reach out and take it. She tried one last time, and as she did so, darkness took her.

The burning hot fire of her lungs awoke her into consciousness, body convulsing, and she coughed and hacked up water, rolling over on her side. It poured out of her mouth. The next thing she knew, an arm pulled her up into a sitting position and felt a hand beat harshly on her back. She wondered if it was the black glove that had saved her. Slowly, she raised her head up to see the familiar face of her father. Evey suddenly felt the tight pressure of an embrace and her father's voice in a tone that she had never heard before say, "I'm so glad you're alright. Thank God, thank God!"

Water almost took her life that day but, later, it had become her deliverance. So how strange it was, when the masked figure known as Codename: V, dressed in black and a white grinning mask, appear so suddenly from the shadows to save her from the Fingermen in the alley years upon years later, to reach down in a gentlemanly manner and extend his black gloved hand towards her. It was the same one, she was certain. She had known him – she had always known him since that day.

Brown eyes opened to regard the overcast sky. The storm had relented; the rain eased into a more tender touch to her wet skin. For the longest time, she had wanted to believe that V was her father – in some small and minuscule way. But though V had a madness to his methods, he had never lied to her in regards to a person's demise. When he had said her father was dead, that was the truth.

She slowly lowered her arms, her muscles stiff and a little sore from having been extended for so long. She couldn't help it. Thunder rumbled a great distance away as the clouds slowly moved across the sky. She felt the last raindrops upon her closed eyelids and she smiled, feeling a burst of emotion threaten to consume her. In God's way, it was V come to kiss her eyes and all at once, her body caved in on itself, losing the strength of her legs as she sunk down on the wet pavement and sobbed into her hands. It wasn't a devastating cry, it was something far more joyful – the notion that two souls, one living and the other passed on, could still connect in a physical way. And it wasn't just rain when she felt him – it was the wind, and the sun, and the starry sky at night. V was there, watching over her as he most assuredly had watched over her in her childhood, saving her from drowning, saving her from death. Ooh, if he was anything, he was her salvation. A single burst of gold pushed out from between the clouds.


	6. Love Wrapped in Wire and Steel

She seemingly held her breath in the dark as she waited for him, trembling inside of the memories that had, undeniably, captured her attention. She wanted to feel him again, so near, so close, so sure of giving all of herself to him – her wants, desires, and every secret. She trusted him, but she wanted to make it worth it. She wanted to know, without a doubt, that he wanted her and no one else. Light soon framed the darkened door, spilling inside with sharp and painful contrast. At sight of his tall silhouette just beyond the threshold, as black as the shadows that lingered in the room, her heart skipped a beat. He stepped forward, magnifying her desires with each footfall that sounded on the newly laid linoleum. Oh, indeed, he took such immaculate care of her, the way a lady should always be treated. He touched her in ways that no one else had ever done. Black gloved hands smoothed along her front while the grinning smile she had grown to love over the course of their affair now shown in the reflection of her eyes. He spoke and she stilled to listen.

"_My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite._ Will it be tonight, I wonder?" Yes, she pleaded in her mind. Yes, it will.

Their courtship was different, something special – hardly the fiery passion of Anarchy, or the bitter betrayal from the newly vicious-heeled Justice. V knew he had to employ a different tactic to the coy but powerful Fate. But his Mistress knew well who he was loyal to, merely a means to an end. V sat calmly in the leather chair, hands stroking along the cool, metal surface before him, his visage staring back at him through the monitor screen. Five displays were laid out before him, blank and vacuous. Pressing a button, she hummed to life but the screens remained still except for the middle one, which glowed with various codes and numerical equations all begging to be solved. Oh indeed, she made it very hard, and he delighted in the chase, in the pursuit of her very core. He calmly brought forth the keyboard and began typing away, stroking at spots he knew she would respond amorously to. V already had an intimate understanding of her and in the coming days, he'd have every inch of her under his hands.

A particular code proved frustrating but V was determined to crack it, to outwit the very system that held this nation under its coerced surveillance. No wonder Fate sang for him in such dulcet tones. Her Master knew only the cold comfort of steel and machine, ignorant to the warmth of a woman's thigh. But V's touch was gentle and alluring, cajoling her to dance with him beneath miles of concrete and earth. Every twirl unraveled a new number; every romantic dip deciphered a new code. He stepped, and she followed, moving with him in a rhythm that mirrored the very machinations of the universe in a constant swell of calculations and equations. A few careful key strokes later and the screen suddenly glowed white, the other four following suit.

V's eyes widened beneath the mask. He had done it. He had found his loop hole. A slow and satisfying smile pulled at his lips and he leaned back to rest his tired shoulders, surveying the fruits of his labor. At long last, Fate was now his to command and he was only too eager to punch new holes in the cards of reality. Everything was linked to Fate and Fate was linked to everything. V leaned forward in the chair, eyes passing over all five screens symbolizing all five sections of the Head of Government: The Finger, the Mouth, the Nose, the Eyes, and the Ears. V imputed another string of complex numerical equations into the system, connecting to Salisbury about fifty miles away. With a few more keystrokes, he plunged the city into a blackout. That should keep them busy a while, he thought. Now that he had bedded Fate, it was time to add to his collection.

The summer night was humid, the sky cloudless. A blanket of stars shone warily in the dark; the moon absent from the backdrop of the scene. The players would soon be in position – the drama soon ready to unfold with bloody anticipation.

Boots thudded harshly against the concrete, cloak flowing behind with the brisk movement. Creedy's men guarded the main arteries of the city, as well as a few lingering in back alleys, wasting their time on a smoke and a piss. They were only dogs after all, sniffing their own rear ends and scratching at fleas from the filth that dripped from the sins of their actions; they enjoyed rolling in it, ensuring that the infection would never be cured. The disease and debauchery sickened him. But V was on his way beyond the quarantine line, where buildings of archaic prestige stood to rot and decay. He hoped that what he was looking for was still there, still salvageable.

"Wotcher think of Keves getting a blowjob, eh?"

"Wot bird would do that?"

"No bird. His Beretta. Blew him clean off."

Three large and mean looking men stood on a vacant street corner, black haired and dangerous. After confirmation of patrolling a nearby sector, one walked off a ways, leaving the two to stand alone on the sidewalk, taking a break from the usual harassment of society. The stockier of the two laughed.

"That's the best damn joke I've 'eard in yonks, Gary." His tone changed suddenly, flat and cold. "He won't be missed." The butt of a cigarette fell to the ground just seconds before a carefully polished shoe stamped it out. "That's wot happens when people in our position don't pay attention – we get offed, even if gits like that do it themselves." The man, Brigham, turned and stared out at the darkened street, angry and bitter. "In this business, you don't live long."

Ironic to his statement, he pulled out a stick and lit it. Puffing on it, he blew a plume of smoke into the air.

"You're right," came a deep voice behind him. "Men in your position don't live long at all."

The Fingerman whipped around, hand instantly thrust in the inner pocket of his jacket for a pistol. He stared into depthless black eyes and a grinning smile towering over him. A glance at the ground told him all he needed to know about his partner – laying dead behind the mass of black before him. How did this happen? He didn't hear a thing! Not a god damn thing! Where was Barry?

"Who the bloody hell are you? … _What_ are you?"

The personification of judgment stepped forward regally, cloak wrapped tight around him, seemingly conjured from the very shadows that surrounded them. Only the mask stood out, always smiling.

"I am the hammer that shall fall hard upon this corrupted anvil and bear the sins of the world to bring about salvation – virtue in the guise of vice."

Silence settled around them like a noose. Gun in hand, the man's brow wrinkled in a frown, blue eyes racing back and forth like a cornered animal, searching for a way out. To V it was all a chess game and the wide brim of his hat obscured a part of his face as he cocked his head down slightly, his tone malicious.

"You're move."

The gun wasn't cocked. He was already close enough that at this range, any shot would be fatal, even to some fucked up wanker like this. He just stood there, staring at him with those creepy eyes and that smug looking mask. Thumb on the hammer, he couldn't help but tremble as he pulled it back, thinking that the sound would cause a burst of action from this lunatic and he'd be done for. The sound was painfully loud. Neither moved. The Fingerman's chest heaved with each deep breath, adrenaline and fear clouding his judgment. V stood calmly, waiting.

"Move and I shoot, chummy."

The third Fingerman, Barry had now returned, an additional gun added to this seemingly unfair stand-off. V didn't move nor did his black gaze waver from the man before him. It was still his move.

A finger twitched around the trigger and not a second later, the glint of a dagger lunged out from the curtain of black, catching Barry in the throat; a gloved hand sought the thick wrist that held the pistol. Bones broke, the sound renting the air with the gurgled dying of the man with a neck full of steel. The gun clattered to the ground. The blade caught in the back of his larynx, using the momentum to turn with the body as V stepped behind him. Blood spilled down his front dripping from the wound as he coughed and hacked it up. Colour swiftly drained from his pudgy face. Limbs began to shake with the near prospect of death.

It all happened in the blink of an eye and Brigham shot at the moving black shadow. The bullets missed their mark and instead imbedded into his partner being used as a human shield. The sound of the gun clicking sunk his heart. With painful force, the body was shoved straight at him, the dead weight nearly throwing him off balance. V came forward, a smiling shade, as a new dagger was silently unsheathed and raked with cruel intent across Brigham's face in a morbid flourish of ferocity, slicing through flesh and bone and the jelly-like substance of his eyes. With a cry, he jerked backward, holding his mutilated face while blood poured from between his fingers.

V shook his head, a mockery of pity that these men were forever incapable of. Stepping forward, just as calm and smooth, he turned about to face the screaming Brigham, amidst his jerking and tossing about in pain and blindness. The same dagger that took his sight was now forced right underneath his breast bone. A dying gurgle pushed from his throat followed by the sickening sound of the blade being retracted from his chest. He collapsed to the ground in a heap of limbs, face smashed against the concrete in his own blood, arms and legs twisted at odd angles. V stood over the sight, of the three men lying there upon the ground, appearing almost thoughtful in his brief reverie. Kneeling down, fingers gripped around the handle still protruding from the man's throat. With a harsh jerk, it pulled out, letting the head slump back with a thunk upon the ground. Both daggers returned back to the darkness beneath the cloak as steel subtly rang against the metallic grooves that held them in place. V slowly turned and strode down the street in long, purposeful strides, as if it was customary to do so well after curfew, as if nothing was wrong - exacting one's civic duty never was.

The buildings that stretched beyond were dilapidated and forgotten, like so much culture drained from the minds of old and youth alike. But V remembered, and it was his solemn vow that he would bring back such richness to the people. In this moment, he sought something truly special. An abandoned theater came into sight and V headed straight for it. Crumbling and withered, the old building appeared to sigh its last breath. Black eyes searched through the gloom, through the cracks of broken glass and dirty paper littering the ground. Stepping carefully, gaze focused upon the walls, he began to doubt if he'd find it, or if he would, it would be in a saddened, hopeless state as its tomb. After a few moments of searching, lips parted in astonishment as his sights focused upon a framed picture coated with dust and neglect, but there was no doubt, he had found what he was looking for. Stepping forward, a reverent gloved hand smoothed away the dirt that collected over its surface. How many years has it been? Close to twenty before he last heard from her, putting a face to the words that he knew so well, that had saved him, that had transformed him. Gripping the frame, he lifted it from the wall and began peeling the backboard off. As venerably as he took care of her letter, he rolled up Valerie's Salt Flatts movie poster with equal care, gripping it tenderly in a gloved hand. V would make sure her image was placed back behind polished glass and frame, under lights and amidst her beautiful roses, safe with him and not in this place of forgotten dirge. She deserved better and he would provide. V tipped his hat to the past before journeying back to the Gallery, as silently and anonymously as he had come.


	7. Nothing Like the Stories

"When is he coming? I don't see him." He began to fidget, the large, wide brim of the hat nearly toppling from his head.

"Be still."

A gloved hand squeezed the cloaked shoulder of a little boy, masked like his mother. He looked up, trying to discern her face beneath the heavy screen of black. Everyone stood at solemn attention – shoulder to cloaked shoulder, waiting in silence, all eyes upon the prestigious and iconic clock that neighbored the symbol of their chains and their unfair sentences as the dark spires of Parliament rose ominously into the chilly night.

It had been a long walk, and the boy, Elijah, remembered well the fright he felt at the sight of those armed guards, guns pointed straight at them, as they had approached. For a wild moment, he thought they would've opened fire. He didn't know what had changed their minds for he was swept away in the sea of black that sifted through the armed surveillance's fingers like water and spilled out onto the main road towards Parliament, towards freedom. The crowd had been overwhelming, as it still was, and Elijah felt a little claustrophobic. He remembered seeing the man on the telly when he had made the BTN speech. He had spoken in plain words that even someone as young as him could understand and find hope in. Elijah knew that something was always off about this country, but he had had no idea how to go about it – until now. And all they had to do was wait, just like the masked figure had said. But Elijah wanted him to suddenly appear and make everything all better, like in the stories that were banned that he had kept hidden away in the floorboards of his room. Bad guys always lost, good guys always won, and everyone always had a happy ending. So how delighted he was when he had checked the post that day and seen that mask smiling up at him from the opened box – his uniform for war.

"_... then I ask you to stand beside me, one year from tonight outside the gates of Parliament and together, we shall give them a Fifth of November that shall never, ever be forgot!"_

Even after a year, the words of that masked figure known as Codename: V still rang in his ears. He burned for revolution, for change – words that were forbidden in today's vocabulary. He began to suspect that, if they could, the government would find a way to make sure that even a man's thoughts in his head were no longer sacred, and anything that was violated was punished by death.

The boy shivered, but it wasn't from the cold wind. He raised his face up once again to try to see through the bodies that surrounded him, bumping a few in the process, curtain of black to his left, to his right, in front of him, and behind him, packed so tight together. No one said a word nor turned to look at him in the same smiling visage that covered his own face. They stood as still as statues –the costumes a mockery of the government's conformity to the people that they all must be the same – a single unit, just like the slogan: _Strength through Unity, Unity through Faith._ They certainly were now. Where is he, he wondered. When is he going to come and tell us what to do?

In insurmountable finality, the old clock ticked to twelve midnight. The bells chimed out, seemingly on cue into the night - an angelic choir. Unbeknownst to them, a woman, hundreds of feet underground, heard the same thing. It's time, Elijah thought. It's officially the Fifth of November. Heart began to beat faster in his chest from anticipation. And then the music started. Beneath the smile, he opened his mouth in astonishment. He had only heard it once in his life, but he would never forget it. The same music that played during the Old Bailey demolition now began to pour from the speakers. It was so stirring, the chords reaching into the very depths of his soul and he knew that they all were a part of something integral to their existence. The music reminded him of the patriotism long before he was born, to a time and place where everyone had the freedom to think and speak as they saw fit, to have a difference in opinion and the freedom to voice it! The volition to keep any piece of art they wanted, from books to paintings to films. Freedom existed in that song, and as it reached higher and higher to its crescendo, so too did all of their hopes and ambitions. It was there that he would reveal himself, Elijah was sure of it! Gloved hands clasped tight in front of him in excitement. Any moment now …

The shaking of earth nearly threw him to the ground. Elijah stared, wide-eyed as the building in front of them exploded in a brilliant, bright flash. The roar of fire and stone falling away in its blaze of defeat was deafening. The music played on as Parliament continued to collapse and crumble in on itself. Everyone that bared witness to it could slowly feel the shackles give way around their wrists and ankles. The fires licked and ate at the brick and cement, ripping it down in its fury with each new blast. The destruction traveled up the length of Big Ben, chiming even as its face exploded into a mass of rubble at their feet. It was glorious as it was life altering. No one would be the same after this. Like a celebration, fireworks began to whistle and explode into the night sky, heralding the dismantlement of totalitarianism. Elijah felt like jumping for joy and shouting his euphoria to the heavens, but something inside him told him to be quiet, to regard what he was seeing with absolute, holy reverence. After all this, Codename: V would show himself, maybe after the fireworks. They continued to light up the sky and a wave of movement flooded the crowd as they all began to take their masks off – showing their identity and uniqueness underneath. Elijah did the same, his opened smile couldn't have been wider. Reds and golds, purples and greens and brilliant whites lit up the sky. It was a sight Elijah had never known in his young life. He didn't want it to end. And like a grand finale, symbolizing the boy's promise, V arrived as a sharp whistle rent the air and a stark red blade of fireworks ripped through the sky in his iconic soubriquet – V for Victory.

"It's beautiful, Mum," he said softly while the crowd began to stir. He still didn't know what was to happen. Codename: V hadn't shown up physically. He was still lost as to what to do. Maybe his parents knew differently. "What's going to happen to us now?"

"I think we're free to do whatever we want to," his father said on the other side of his mother.

"I won't have to hide my books anymore." The relief he felt at that confession was incredible.

Far away, the familiar sirens of the Finger's vans began to howl into the night as the last of the omen scrawled upon the sky began to glitter back down to earth. Elijah felt different about the world, he felt emboldened, powerful, and that no matter what happened, they would be as victorious as their masked hero. The sirens, having chilled his blood before, seemed like a distant memory now, even as they arrived behind the mass of people dressed in black. Cruel and armed men tried to ruthlessly take control of the situation. Elijah was too far away to see, but he felt something bad was going to happen, even as his mother clutched an arm around him protectively.

A club cracked against a skull and a body fell to the ground in a heap. Screams and shouts took the place of explosions and fireworks. Their happy celebration was swiftly cut down to its knees as government officials sought to slit the throat of any opposition. No more orders from the High Chancellor or Creedy and they were now left to their own maddening devices. Anyone caught with one of those masks were to be arrested and being out after curfew – they all were guilty. Like a wave, the crowd churned and frothed, all adamant in standing their ground. They had bared witness to the impossible and if Parliament could explode in front of their eyes, they could rise off of their knees and take back what was rightfully theirs.

Like its own explosion, the crowd burst upon the Fingermen, even as they began to apprehend them. It was as if a pot had been boiling for years and only now, was the lid blown off. Masks were replaced with black bags and the people were thrown and shoved into the vans. No one was spared; adults and children alike shared the same fate. Though tired and fatigued from their long incarceration and deformed by the smallness of their cells, the vox populi opposed with rancorous cries and surprising strength. Orders were shouted into walkie talkies. A helicopter patrolled the skies, beaming its intense light down upon the chaotic scene. A uniformed official had his face beaten in. Blood flew from the force with each bone crushing punch.

"Stay where you are! Stay where you are!"

A single voice rose above the tumult as three cloaked citizens bore down upon a man with vicious intent, a shaking gun pointed at them. The ghost of an idea reigned and fueled each and every one of them. It was suicidal to have even come to witness what they did – so this asked for nothing less. They had something to believe in and now, something to die for. With no signs of stopping and no hesitation, the man opened fire on them. The bodies dropped to the ground. A sharp pain raced down his spinal cord before he too joined them with a crushed neck.

As the crowd began to disperse and thin out, Elijah lost connection with his father.

"Elijah, get out of this mass as fast as you can and run straight home. I'll try to find your father."

Elijah was one of the few who had put the mask back on. Glad that it hid his fearful expression, his heart pounded in his chest. He didn't know what to do. He was utterly torn between throwing his life upon the spikes of this corrupted government and join the fray and help his fellow man to usurp that terrible regime, with following the orders of his mother and running away like a coward. He was too young to die, but in his young life, he understood that before this moment, he hadn't lived at all.

"I can't."

"Yes you can." She turned to him, her red hair falling down her shoulders. The light from above highlighted the absolute fear and uncertainty in her expression when she looked at him. It made his stomach clench. He felt sick.

"You can do this." Gloved hands cupped his masked face as she spoke fast and urgently. "A miracle happened before our eyes and I need you to be the hope that continues it. Can you do that for me? Can you be strong for your father and I?"

Elijah couldn't speak as tears welled up in his eyes that his mother would never see. It took great effort but he finally nodded. She suddenly hugged him tight.

"I love you."

Before he could respond, he was suddenly thrown off his feet as something heavy slammed into him, crushing the boy to the ground. He heard his mother's shouts of his name before it was swallowed up by the din and noise of chaos, causing his fear to follow suit and nearly swallow him up in kind. Pain bit into his face, his nose and forehead smashed against the inside of the mask. He struggled with the weight until he wriggled free from under it and pulled himself to his feet. He looked down. An old man stared up at him with lifeless eyes, mouth hung open. Blood drained from the bullet wound in his head.

Dark eyes looked around, regarding the carnage with stoic indifference. Elijah never felt more small and helpless. The real life situation was nothing like the romantic ideals found in stories. It was darker, more unforgiving, and far more merciless. He tried to move, but his legs felt paralyzed. Looking about himself, he saw nothing but cloaked figures and uniformed men fighting for ideas that were bigger than any one life. A lot of bodies littered the ground. A van drove away, probably filled to the brim with his fellow citizen. Guns went off, screaming and shouts sent shivers down his spine. He doubted that he'd ever be able to forget. To his left, the building continued to smolder, smoke rising up into the far more peaceful heavens. This wasn't how he wanted it to be, this wasn't what was supposed to happen! He lied, he lied to us! He never showed up! He probably never planned to! Anger took the place of fear.

"Oi! You sodding little git! Come with me."

He turned towards the voice to see a large man coming straight towards him. Elijah felt freer than he had ever felt in his life. The mask seemingly fusing to his face, he stared out into the visage of evil from the impenetrable black pitch of Elijah's eyes. The costume became him.

"No," he said defiantly.

A fire burned in his heart, licking and coiling around the muscles of his limbs, giving him strength, giving him purposeful resolve. No more fear, no more uncertainty. He was ready. To die, if need be.

A piercing shriek stopped the man in his tracks, giving Elijah enough time to calculate why it sounded so familiar. Without another moment's hesitation, he turned and raced across the expanse of ground, jumping over dead bodies and leaving the man behind to fend against the fire of the people that still blazed around them. He stopped to catch his breath and could easily see the red hair of his mother several yards away. She was on the ground, cradling the head of his father in her arms, her gaze upon a uniformed man. Elijah could hear her voice, rebellious and strong through her tears.

"This won't change anything! No matter how many you take away, no matter how many you kill today, we are free and we will always be free! You have not won."

The blast of the gun ripped through his insides as he saw his mother collapse over the body of his father. Elijah just stared. His mind refused to connect the events together, to see reality for what it was. This had to be a dream. Before going into shock, it felt like something hit him in the face with a brick. What happened happened, and he needed to leave as fast as possible. Numbness overtook him, but his legs still moved beneath his body as Elijah blindly ran. It was a comfort when the shouting, screaming and gun fire dissolved away into the background. Elijah ducked into an alley and collapsed into the darkness. He ripped the mask from his face and spilled the contents of his stomach out onto the ground. He wretched and heaved until his stomach hurt. Breathing heavily, a sob escaped him but he quickly cut it off while a gloved hand reached up to rub his face, rub the tears from his eyes. But no matter how hard he scrubbed, he couldn't relieve himself of the image of seeing his mother killed in front of him. He was alone …

"Elijah?"

"Is that him? Oi! Come, come! Quick!"

He flicked his eyes into the deepest part of the alley and could barely discern shapes moving within. He forced himself to his feet, boots trudging through his sick as he went, the mask still in hand.

"I'm glad you're safe."

Arms embraced him but he didn't feel it. His tongue felt swollen and his throat scratchy. He didn't feel like talking anyway. Eyes adjusted more to the gloom and he saw the familiar contours of his two friends, David and Cassie, cloaked and masked like him.

Much to all of their surprise, the fires from the building and people alike dimmed away after months of terror and turmoil in its aftermath. A beacon of hope had risen up above the city of London like a star – a woman by the name of Evey Hammond tried to bring order to their trembling and starved world. The three children followed her diligently. After a year, things went from bad to worse – from one evil end of the spectrum to the other. It was still chaos and madness out on the streets and the name of Evey Hammond seemed to disappear from the face of the earth – much to Elijah and his friends' dismay. It was believed that she had died. Collaborating together, the three of them picked up where she had left off, and began work in reminding this country of what it had sorely forgotten. After much self-consoling and trying to find reason in his thoughts, Elijah slowly began to understand just exactly what Codename: V had meant in his address to the country. He _had _been there that night – not just as the letter V scrolled upon the sky, or the raw destruction of Parliament, but as the masked figure next to him in the crowd, and in front of him, and behind him. He was Elijah's father, his mother, and his friends. V was also Elijah. He was all of them.

Even as the three set up around the burning trash bin on the side of a street corner a year later, Elijah smiled beneath the mask as he regarded his two friends in equal guise. Ever since that night of confronting the man in uniform, Elijah had had a feeling that V had helped steel the boy for that moment – and for the moments to come. V had lead him away from that horrible nightmare and had dropped him into the alley where he just happened to be reunited with his friends. And every time he put on the costume that was so much more than that – a raiment, a uniform for war – Elijah felt him, giving him hope for another day's protest, V's words from the BTN speech flowing into him unconsciously. It would be a long time before change would come, but the boy was sure that their actions would not be in vain – that it could be just enough to topple down the dominoes that would evoke a turning chain of events that would deliver them all. Fate would be on their side, for, unbeknownst to them, the fire of their absolution would soon catch the eye of a despondent ghost of a woman that is destined to bring about the change that so many had defended and died for.


	8. It Won't Change Anything

She wanted him to stay. More than anything, she wanted him to stay. Tears glistened in deep brown eyes and blinded her vision as his cloaked back dissolved into the shadows and out of sight, leaving her alone with the remnants of the past. She shut her eyes and felt the hot sting of tears fall down her cheeks as she fought against the rationality of her mind and the overwhelming feeling of her heart. She hated that darkness that surrounded him, that called to him in the night like a siren and he would unquestionably and willingly come each and every time. But Evey had to remind herself why he did it – for an unselfish act that would deliver them all from the chains of oppression. But though she didn't know it yet, she was Creation – the rose that would bloom amidst the rubble of his destruction; it was only natural that she try to cajole him to her light. But they existed on opposite ends of the spectrum – if one were to tip too far the other way, the balance would be lost.

Her tears fell for other reasons too. V's words were as sharp as the daggers she knew that rested in the belt at his waist and they were aimed, with deadly accuracy, at her personal views and morals. It was like asking fire to be less hot or rain to be less wet. It hurt but she didn't blame him. God, she loved him. She could never blame him. She dropped her hand from her mouth and slowly turned, making her way back to bed, her bare feet padding along the cold floor as she went. She stopped in front of the door. Eyes passed over the ornate wood and the decorative handle. How long were you standing here, she wondered. How long were you standing here before you found the courage to enter? She mirrored the same journey he had done as she stepped beyond the threshold and into the familiar room. What compelled you inside but drove you away when you truly had a choice? Her slender arms crossed along her midsection, settling over the silken light blue fabric of the night gown that hugged her form. She sat down on the edge of the bed, wondering about the nature of a requiem.

The grandfather clock chimed, the bell sounding musically into the silence. V didn't bother to count the ringing sounds to figure out what time it was. When he had left the upper world, the faintest hue of pink could be seen on the horizon, a pretty sight. His voracious vices were sated and he had begun to think about Evey. He wanted to make it up to her, do something nice in hopes that that tense moment from before could be forgiven. The last chime ended and V slowly unwound the cloak from his shoulders and laid it on the back of the couch. Gloved hands undid the belt at his waist, the daggers glistening in the dim light and set them upon the cushion, the hat following soon after, the wide brim hiding the weapons underneath. Slow steps brought him to the edge of the hall. He peered towards her room. The door was closed. He slowly turned away and headed towards the kitchen.

She had no idea how long she sat there in the dark, trying to make out shapes in the gloom when her eyes had finally adjusted as much as they could. Sometimes, he would be gone for days and she was left to her own devices in the Gallery. She had to catch herself from talking to a statue on more than a few occasions. But all that surrounded her now was darkness and the faint outline of books, a couple lamps, a few paintings, and a dresser. She didn't want to sleep and when fatigue began to creep into her bones, she fought against it. Though her eyes grew heavy, her mind remained awake, thinking and pondering on a man and an idea. Her nose suddenly caught the smell of something cooking. She blinked in disbelief. Was he back already? Or had she fallen asleep after all? It didn't matter. She was just glad to have him back home. She caught herself again. This wasn't home, it was a museum. But still, it was nice to think about the idea of them living together in some domestic life style. That brought a smile to her lips as she stood up and stepped silently towards the door.

V hummed the haunting Chopin Nocturne in E minor to himself as he stirred the still liquid mixture of scrambled eggs in a pan. Bacon sizzled away nearby. Setting the spatula down, a scarred and angry red fleshless hand gripped a fork and turned the bacon over. The humming stopped as he sang out a run of notes.

Opening the door, the smell of breakfast cooking was delightful, though perhaps to hear his deep baritone voice was more so. It was strange to her how he seemed to be two different people – one of vicious, unforgiving darkness and the other, so calm and caring and eccentric in his passions. He was more human than he cared to admit. She crept down the hall, though hardly believing that she could catch him unawares. From the edge of the wall, she could just make out a piece of him with his back turned, happily singing a strangely sad sounding melody. He shifted suddenly, abandoning the stove and moved to the nearby counter surface. She knew he was quickly putting his gloves back on. How did he know she was there?

V smiled beneath the mask, reveling in the little victory of their game that they had unconsciously began to play over time. Thusly, V was victorious - there was never any sneaking up on him.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle. I hope you're hungry."

He turned, regarding her with that jovial grin she had come to know so well. She couldn't help but smile back, grateful and relieved to hear the kindness in his voice.

"Yes, I'm starving, actually."

She wasn't but she was not going to allow his kind gesture to be for nothing. He turned around again, facing the stove. Instead of sitting at the table, she ventured near him, peering up at him with childlike innocence and a pleading in her eyes of forgiveness, of hope, of love. Fingers trembling, she reached out and touched his arm.

He went to scoop the bacon out of the pan when he felt a touch on his arm and every muscle in his body locked up.

_Bone under a gloved hand broke effortlessly as a strangled cry sounded in the night._

"V … I'm sorry about earlier. I'm sorry but …"

"_Christ, don't kill me! Don't kill me!"_

_A wicked grinning smile shone starkly in the dark, with depthless black where eyes should be which burned with a hellish glow. A deep and velvet tone uttered from beneath, smoothness the likes of which would make the Devil proud._

"_This violent verve shall vindicate vicious verdicts."_

"Sometimes, I wish you didn't have to go out … I wish you could stay with me and read to me like you used to, or watch a movie together."

She felt like a specimen on a slide under such an unforgiving, scrutinizing gaze. For several seconds, he didn't do anything but stare at her. All was silent except for the sizzling of the bacon.

He slowly turned to the stove and finally scooped the bacon out onto a plate, the scrambled eggs following after. His actions were slow and meticulous, as if he were afraid of breaking something. Wordlessly, he handed it to her and as she reached out to take it, flesh brushed against leather.

_The flash of steel knifed through air and flesh, plunging straight through the bottom of the breast bone and into the heart. _

"Thank you …"

Lively deep brown eyes were juxtaposed with eyes glazed over with death. A smile coalesced with a mouth hung open in silent agony.

When she moved to walk away, V suddenly turned towards her.

"I'm sorry, Evey. _The_ _law hath not been dead, though it hath slept._ It just needs a bit of waking up. I have no plans to go out tonight and if you wish, I will keep you company."

"I would like that."


End file.
